


Kingsman: Codename Hood

by Whedonista93



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Robin Hood (2018)
Genre: Bittersweet, Crossover, Eggsy is Robin, F/M, Gen, Immortality, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 10:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20424221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: They say legends never die... centuries later, Robin of Loxley proves that phrase is more literal than expected





	Kingsman: Codename Hood

**Author's Note:**

> 'Cause I couldn't watch this hot mess of a movie and not go "What if Eggsy was Robin?"
> 
> As always, a tip of the hat to aggiepuff for being the best beta ever!

The fact that a spy organization actually managed to not only establish itself, but flourish, without his knowledge makes him curious enough to accept Harry’s Kingsman proposal. It’s… damn, it’s fucking hard. He’s kept fit, sure, but he hasn’t had to move like this since right after he came back from the damn crusades. It’s as exhilarating as it is bittersweet. And the fact that their code names come from legends even older than the ones bearing his name… well, the first moment he has alone, he laughs so hard he nearly pisses himself even if he’s never quite sure why it’s so funny.

After the first month of training he has to start checking his reflexes. He’s got a feeling Merlin knows he’s holding back somehow, but the other man never calls him on it. He’s pretty convinced if Harry were around more often, he’d be right fucked, ‘cause Merlin’s gotta watch everyone, but Harry can focus on him. Roxy… well, Roxy’s just aces; he’s known a lot of badass women, but Rox comes close to the top of the list. Charlie, on the other hand, reminds him of Will at his most self-righteous, and he wants nothing more to punch the git in his smart mouth. Getting to electrocute him during the Valentine fiasco mostly makes up for never getting to hit him.

And Valentine himself is kinda a fucking joke, but he’s a brilliant fucking joke, and that’s what makes him dangerous. Lying on the ground bleeding and asking, “Is this the part where you say some really bad pun?” He has a flashback to another villain, so long ago, screaming, _ “I’m the Sheriff of Nottingham!” _ and answering, “_Not anymore_._” _before leaning over and fulfilling the dying man’s last wish with, “It’s not that kind of movie, bruv.”

Tilde is a core of fucking steel in a package that’s soft and sweet and just a little wild. She’s her own person, and he loves her for it, but every now and then, she’ll do or say something that reminds him so much of Marian that it _ hurts _. And the fact that Tilde never questions him in those moments when that ageless pain flashes through his eyes makes him love her just a little more.

Things are good, for a while, then some crazy bitch blows Kingsman off the fucking map, and there’s _ another _ agency that he didn’t fucking know about, and Harry is alive, but Roxy ain’t, and his head spins through the whole fucking ordeal. He makes damn sure Charlie is dead this time around. When they finally make it back across the pond, Roxy meets them at the airport with a scathing tirade, but doesn’t make fun of him when he cries a bit at seeing her, so he just takes it on the chin.

They rebuild. Part of rebuilding, it turns out, includes Merlin sending him to Colwick to track down Tristan, who’d been off duty visiting an ailing aunt or something like. Knight collected and sent packing off back to London, he debates all of two seconds before turning in the direction of Nottingham - it _ is _ just up the road, and it’s been a while since he was back. He drives through the night, pulls into town, and smiles when he realizes it’s a market day. He parks and meanders through, buying a bit of breakfast and a bouquet of spring flowers before returning to his car and taking the road up to Locksley Manor. He’d converted the stables to a garage ages ago, and he can’t rightly remember - he hasn’t actually been back since about a decade before he joined up with Kingsman - but he doesn’t think there’s room for another car in there at the moment.

He doesn’t go inside, not yet, choosing to skirt around the edge of the house through overgrown shrubs - really oughta get some kind of landscaping done out here - and fighting his way through to the little burial plot near the edge of the woods - this, at least, has been maintained.

He drops flowers here and there on a few headstones until he reaches one near the back and drops down to sit against it, settling the rest of the bouquet at its base. He takes his hat off and leans his head back against the stone, letting the sun warm his cheeks before he finally takes a deep breath and speaks. “Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been ‘round. Lotta shit’s happened these last few years, luv.” He tells her about Harry, “Ain’t entirely sure he ain’t one of our descendants. We’ve got a fuckton of ‘em, ya know, and they’re kinda hard to keep track of sometimes.” He tells her about Merlin, “The man sees and knows all. I guarantee he’ll ask me what the fuck I was doing in Nottingham when I get back. And his training rivals John’s, I swear to you.” He tells her about Roxy. “You’d love her. She’s tough, like you were.” The _ were _ doesn’t hurt quite so bad after all this time. And he tells her about Tilde. “I’m gonna marry her, Marian. Been a long time since I was in front of that many people. A fucking princess… with the likes o’ me. Never would’ve guessed it, eh? Well… you might’ve.”

He stays a few days. Long enough to establish contracts for landscaping and housekeeping and remind the locals that Locksley Manor still fucking belongs to someone. 

It’s smooth sailing, for a while. The odd mission that goes a little tits up, sure, but nothing that can’t be handled. A lot of their resources are being tunneled into finding and training new recruits under their new, significantly more thorough, regime while Statesmen runs most of the missions. He makes the mistake of getting comfortable enough to start slipping.

Some psychopath corners him and Roxy in a museum and he pulls a medieval bow off the wall and prays the string doesn’t snap. And he knows, he fucking knows, better than to shoot that way - no one shoots that way anymore, there’s literally no one alive, other than him, in this day and age, that could even hope to teach someone to shoot a bow the way he does. He grins and runs off at the mouth - some smarmy, smartass explanation, but Roxy still looks at him oddly for weeks afterward.

They’re on a mission in the Arabian Peninsula - him and Harry on the ground and Merlin in the van, still not field ready with his prosthetics. There are bombs, and they don’t know where - the one asshole they’ve caught says something to Harry about a school and a hospital then falls silent, no matter how… _ persuasive _ Harry gets. They’re running out of time, and he decides, _ Fuck it _, and pulls Harry back, plants himself in a chair in front of the terrorist, leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice perfectly calm as he begins speaking to the bastard in perfect Arabic, electing to ignore Harry gaping at him in his peripheral vision and Merlin sputtering in his ear. 

The terrorist goes pale and slack jawed before snapping his mouth shut and shaking his head again. He heaves a sigh and pulls his phone out, dialling without looking and bringing the phone to his ear. “John, you ‘round home? Yeah, your home, you prat. Yeah, I’m one of the white boys fucking shit up. Why? ‘Cause they’re tryin’ to kill a bunch of kids, you ass, and they don’t wanna tell me where the fucking bombs are. Yeah. Cheers, mate.” He hangs up and remains completely silent, just staring at the terrorist, until John walks in five minutes later. The bastard goes ghostly pale - an odd look with his dark complexion - and tells them exactly where the bombs are. He dodges Harry and Merlin both for a month after, until they finally get the point and stop trying to ask questions about John.

Almost two years after they get married, someone breaks into their house in London, goes after Tilde. He doesn’t even think about it, he jumps in front of her, takes a bullet point blank to the chest, and then lunges forward, burying the knife he keeps under the mattress in the would-be assassin’s throat. Tilde is screaming and crying and as much as he hates to do it, he leaves her in their room to clear the rest of the house and call Merlin for a clean up and to tell him they’ll be outta town for a bit. 

Tilde is still crying when he re-enters their room. She lunges for him, “You were shot! Don’t you dare try to tell me you weren’t! How-” He presses his lips to hers briefly, just long enough to silence her. “I’m fine, and I’ll explain, but not here, not now. You trust me?” She nods. “Grab a bag, quick. We’re goin’ away for a bit.” He wipes the blood away from his chest and puts on a clean shirt and jeans in the bathroom and is bustling Tilde into the car by the time the clean-up crew pulls up to their house. He takes her to Nottingham - to Locksley Manor, and holds her until she cries herself to sleep. He tells her the truth - the legends and what really happened and the damn immortality, for lack of a better word, and she laughs and cries and then doesn’t speak to him for a week, but she doesn’t leave the Manor grounds, and still shares his bed every night, so he counts it a win. Eventually, she accepts it, and they go on with their lives.

Tilde gives birth to their first child at Locksley Manor, and he’s not surprised to find John standing over the bassinet later that night. “Don’t know why you keep puttin’ yourself through this heartbreak.” He shrugs. “‘Cause it’s worth it while I have it.” John scoffs, but murmurs a blessing over the sleeping boy as he has for every one of his children over the years, and claps him on the shoulder before he vanishes back into the night.

He’s in a cave… somewhere. Afghanistan, maybe. He’s not sure. But he knows even Kingsman can’t get to him here and right up until the moment John walks in, he’s actually thinking this might be the real end. John blows some shit up and drags his ass back to Nottingham. Somehow, and he really can’t be fucked to figure out how right now, just knows for damn sure they didn’t know about it until now, Merlin and Harry track him down and are set to blow the doors of the Manor off the hinges before Tilde opens it with an eye roll and a smile, bouncing their youngest on her hip. “You could’ve just knocked.” 

Both men have the decency to blush and apologize as she leads them to the den where he’s propped up in an old wingback in front of a roaring fire. He doesn’t actually need the recovery time, but his wife insists and he scared her badly enough he acquiesces without a fight. Harry and Merlin give him a look, he gives John and Tilde a look, then shrugs and launches into the same tale he told Tilde almost a decade ago. For some reason, he’s not all that surprised that Merlin just takes it in stride. Harry, on the other hand, gapes for several minutes before he manages a strangled declaration. “I am a direct descendant of Robin of Locksley.” He winces. “Yeah. Thought you might be. Sorry bruv, I ain’t exactly kept too close track over the years.” “So, you’re my…” “Some odd greats granda? Yeah, mate. Cheers.”


End file.
